


Arwen Is A Pervy Human Fancier

by Not_You



Series: Welcome To Greyhame Academy [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Bathtub Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Engagement, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Frottage, Hand Feeding, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Prostate Massage, Weird Elven Sexual Mores, hobbits and food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is she really going out with him?" enquires the entire world, watching Aragorn and Arwen go by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arwen checks her hair in her rearview mirror, even though she knows quite well that Aragorn won't really notice or care. She smiles just thinking about her sweet little human, and steps out of the car. Greyhame Academy looks the same as ever, and she stops to pat the head of one of the eagle sculptures before going inside.

With an unexpected three-day weekend, she had decided to make a surprise visit home. Father and the twins had been happy to see her, and when they had said that Aragorn was staying after school to make use of the library, Arwen had of course volunteered to go fetch him. She smiles at the various posters adorning the walls, a lot of them student-made and in Beginning Sindarin. One is by Samwise Gamgee, Frodo's little friend, and she takes a moment to study the simple and very pretty flowers on it before making her way to the library. School has been out for over an hour, so she's not surprised to find the place almost completely empty. Aragorn has of course tucked himself up in the darkest corner available, with a huge history tome open on his bony knees.

People have given Arwen a lot of crap for promising herself to Aragorn, and it does remain sort of difficult for her to explain. That she had thought the tiny human boy her father was fostering was very sweet, but had had matters of her own to attend to and hadn't checked back in for about fourteen years, finding a surprisingly serious human on the edge of manhood in the place of the chubby little ball of mischief she had left behind, and that his unflinching grey gaze had somehow found its way into her soul. He looks up now, and blushes all over his stubbly little face. He really does need to pay more attention to personal grooming, but there's plenty of time for him to learn.

"It's good to see you, dearest one," she says softly, and offers him a hand up. He stands and puts the book away, blushing as he takes her hand again and follows her out. He's greasy, bless him, and he usually tries so hard to get his hair washed when he knows she's going to see him. He tells her about his day as they walk, and in the car the musky human scent of him is strong, and, to Arwen at least, pleasant.

"I.. I would've cleaned up," he says, and she laughs.

"I like you the way you are, Estel." She leans across the gearshift and cups his face in her hands, giving him a soft kiss that makes his poor human heart beat like a drum. She breaks the kiss without pulling away, nuzzling his cheek and enjoying the prickly-silky feeling of his stubble before barely nibbling the tip of his ear. If he were another elf this would be a bit scandalous to do in public, but with her darling little human it's only a little excessive. He shudders and his breath quickens, and she smiles at him as she sits up straight again. It takes him a moment to realize that she's waiting for him to buckle his seatbelt, but he finally blinks and complies. He's quiet for the ride home, mostly listening to Arwen's account of her Lore Studies fieldwork. She would worry about boring most humans, but of course Aragorn is special.

When they get home Father comes out to greet them, and to tell them that he has prepared Arwen's favorite meal and that Mother has actually come down to dinner. Poor Mother is so delicate, and they enter the house quietly because all her time in her room reduces her tolerance for confusion and noise. She's not as pale as she was last time, though, and she gets up and hugs Arwen with no hesitation.

"Thank you for coming home, Evenstar," she says, kissing Arwen's cheek and then turning to Aragorn, smiling softly at him and telling him that he has just enough time to wash his face. He rolls his eyes, but kisses her hand and says that he will, dashing upstairs while Arwen hangs up her jacket and goes to fetch the good plates to celebrate her visit and Mother's good day.

Father's cooking is as good as ever, and the twins are still obnoxious. It's good to be home, and she lingers over the various dainty dishes. Sylvan cress isn't even in season, but Father has found some anyway. It has the taste of hydroponic growth, but as far as Arwen is concerned, it's not any less delicious than the taste of good soil and sun, just different.

After dinner she sits at the table with Mother, holding her wasted hand and talking to her gently. Father hovers nearby, and as always the love between them is one of the most beautiful things Arwen has ever seen. She tells them legends from the black elves, those ancient and far-flung relatives of theirs, about the Blood Queen leading her armies in her necklace of cowrie shells and her perfect skin, the heat too intense for anything else, and about Valar in the forms of falcons and bulls and crocodiles. Mother's dim eyes are brighter than Arwen has seen them in some time, and after she goes upstairs to rest, Father takes Arwen into his arms and holds her for a long time, whispering his gratitude to her for being so good with Mother.

"It's the least I can do when I'm gone so much," she says, and he smiles down at her.

"Don't regret that, daughter. I'm glad to see you learning so much."

She squeezes his hand, and goes up to her room. The twins have already brought her bag up, and have left her some fresh flowers because they are sweet boys, despite how obnoxious they can be. She unpacks her few things, and then goes to see Aragorn. Despite being technically betrothed, they're not allowed to sleep in the same room, but Father isn't cruel and he does actually trust Arwen on matters of decency and honor, so she can close the door behind her and sit on the bed while she talks to Aragorn. He's nervously trying to fling his clutter into order, and it finally makes her laugh despite her best efforts not to embarrass him.

He stops, holding a dirty sock and glancing around at the chaos. "It's pretty much hopeless, isn't it?" He flings the sock aside and sits down next to her with a sigh. "Arwen, I try to take you at your word, but I do have to wonder where the attraction is, sometimes."

She laughs again, and puts an arm around him. "Oh, beloved. I will admit that I have a great deal of difficulty in putting it into words, but you captivate me." She kisses him on the mouth and he shudders, melting against her and then staying there as they both just breathe together in the way of elves.

Naturally, the twins choose this moment to hammer on the door, declaring that they know their wicked sister is up to no good, and that they must defend Aragorn's virtue. He replies to this in the only truly appropriate way, which is to gesture for Arwen to open the door while he lies in wait with a pillow to clobber his brothers.


	2. Chapter 2

Boromir has heard that Aragorn is engaged to what is technically his foster sister, but he wasn't expecting to actually meet her. He's still kind of weird with elves that aren't Legolas, to his great chagrin. He can't help it, with years of tales of what happens to the unwary in Greenwood, and of elven enchantments. In her way, Arwen dispels some of those notions. When Boromir answers the door at a study session at Frodo's to find that Aragorn has brought her along, he realizes that the world's more bitter humans might readily accuse people this gorgeous of enchanting them. He stares like an idiot for a moment, and then remembers his manners, bowing and letting her in. Aragorn follows, looking damnably amused.

"Arwen!" Frodo calls, coming over to take her hands. "You look well, and as lovely as ever. How are your studies coming?"

"Very well," she says, and kneels to give him a kiss on the forehead. He must be used to it, because he doesn't faint dead away the way Boromir would have. Instead he kisses her on the cheek, and leads her over to where they've put cushions on the floor because anything bigger than a Dwarf on hobbit furniture is a recipe for disaster. Two overturned bureau drawers make a decent table for everyone's drinks and the enormous platter of sandwiches and pot of tea required of any study session with hobbits. Merry and Pippin greet her cheerfully, and Sam looks about as thunderstruck as Boromir feels. Legolas just rolls his eyes and waves, of course, immune to the effects of his cousin in a way Merry and Pippin will never manage. Gimli is trying not to make the same face as Sam, but having already met Galadriel of Lothlorien, he's a little more prepared. Aragorn introduces Arwen to Boromir and the younger hobbits and Gimli, since the others know her, and settles in beside her, thanking Sam as he pours them each a cup of tea.

Arwen smiles down at Sam, and gestures for him to sit on her other side, where he does, blushing and looking alarmingly cute. He really is too young for Boromir, though, and it shows, even if Merry does give Boromir a knowing smile that makes him blush, too.

"It's nice to meet Aragorn's friends," Arwen says, opening an ancient elven book to do some studying of her own as the others take up their assignments again.

"It's nice to meet Aragorn's promised," Pippin says. "We were a little skeptical when you first came up in conversation, but he had letters and a photo, and he's far too proud to look into one of those imaginary girlfriend services."

Arwen laughs. "Well, I do spend a lot of my time in Lothlorien, but here I am."

Aragorn rolls his eyes, leaning on her a little. "If I were going to lie, I'd make it someone more believable."

"A wild ranger girl with leaves in her hair?" Arwen asks, amused, and Aragorn smiles at her in a way that makes them look a little less strange together.

"Maybe so," he says, and they begin a soft argument in Sindarin, presumably about this hypothetical girl. Boromir pretty much only knows how to swear, and that only because Legolas gets so frustrated trying to teach him anything else. He turns his attention back to his math. It's one of his better subjects and he doesn't really need the group's help with it, but it's cozy here in Frodo's apartment. And Sam is writing a paper on the history of Gondor, so Boromir is a useful person to have around. Merry and Pippin are supposed to be writing essays for their Westron class, but have mostly been wallowing in the cushions and surreptitiously pulling each other's foot-fur like the degenerate layabouts they are.

After some work has gotten done despite Merry and Pippin's best efforts, Frodo insists that they stay for dinner, and corrals his no-good cousins into helping chop and stir things while Sam sets the table. Boromir is always touched to see how easily Sam fits with the others. He's a freshman with a family in service, but generally no one is trying to make him feel either one. And when they do, they're being solicitous of his youth or deferring to his knowledge of practical botany. Boromir helps him collect cushions, seats on the floor keeping him and Aragorn and Legolas and Arwen at the right height. Gimli's chair is a bit delicate for him, but it works. In the end everyone can sit comfortably, all of them able to help pass the various dishes.

The food is wonderful, as hobbit cooking generally is, and they linger over it the way hobbits do, anything up to three helpings considered completely normal. Even Arwen eats like a field hand, even if she does so with such grace that it's hard to notice. Legolas is the same way, both of them stuffing themselves on seasonal Shire exports. Hobbits have a knack with growing things, particularly finicky, semi-wild ones like cress and strawberries, and even a pair of elves can't turn their elegant noses up at Frodo's offerings.

It is apparently Merry and Pippin's turn to do the dishes, and once everyone is almost too stuffed to move, they shuffle off to do so while Frodo makes ominous noises about dessert. He waits for his cousins to get things mostly cleared away, and then hops up and vanishes into the kitchen, emerging with a giant charlotte, made with the very last of those tiny little Shire strawberries that everyone in the city gorges on in late summer when there's enough of them for the price to go down. They all find a little bit more room, and afterward Boromir gets to his feet mostly to see if he can. That done, he takes a few plates back to the kitchen, where Merry and Pippin have already supposedly gone back to work. They're eating a surplus of strawberries in syrup, sitting on the low counter and smiling at Boromir with pink-stained lips.

"We were just debating which of us should go get you," Merry purrs, and Boromir blushes, setting the plates on top of the stack that's still waiting.

"Were you, then," Boromir says, standing on his knees to be closer to level with them. This way he's the shorter one, and he can see them both reveling in it. Pippin leans down first, giving him a sticky kiss that tastes like strawberries, but soon he passes him to Merry. They feed him berries and kisses by turns, stroking his hair and murmuring sweet, filthy things to him. A lot of the time he feels like their favorite toy, and it's a little disconcerting to like it so much.

Naturally, Boromir is very glad to be in a relatively innocent position when Arwen comes in, bearing more plates. He's still kneeling on the floor and clearly being lovingly pawed by two hobbits at once, but he's resting his head on Merry's knee, and their hands are just in his hair and on his shoulders. He still blushes and scrambles to his feet, but she just smiles at all of them.

"Pardon me for intruding." She sets the plates down and goes to filch a berry of her own from the bowl. "The others will probably recover from their food coma in a moment, and this place might see more traffic."

"Thanks for the tip," Pippin says, hooking his fingers through Boromir's belt loop in a possessive, lazy way that makes it hard to breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

Aragorn curls into the passenger seat of Arwen's car and smiles. It's definitely juvenile to enjoy the effect she has on the unprepared, but he really can't help it. To him there's something homey about Arwen's impossible beauty, like the luminous face of the moon returning every month. She glances over to make sure his seatbelt is buckled, and then pulls away from the curb, the engine purring quietly.

"I like your friends, Estel," she says, watching the road.

"Even Boromir?" He loves Boromir as much as the others, but also loves to rip on him, something he's sure Arwen has figured out already.

"Especially Boromir," she says, laughing. "He reminds me of the Stewards when I was just a little thing. There's more fire to him, though. They were like deep water."

Aragorn feels humbled the way he does every time Arwen mentions her great age. Growing up in a family of elves has made him as used to it as anyone can be, but Arwen's promise to him puts all her years in a different light. "And what am I like, Evenstar?"

"Like the wind, dearheart. Caressing and cutting and cleansing."

He blushes, and doesn't say anything for the rest of the drive. One thing he notices when he's with humans and hobbits is how much they chatter. Arwen takes his long silence as gracefully as a tree. When they reach home, she stills the engine and turns to him with one of her mysterious smiles.

"You know that I love you, don't you?" she asks, and all Aragorn can do is nod, entranced by one white hand as she reaches out to him. Elven hands are always smooth and dry, and usually a little cool, like Arwen's is now, cupping the side of his face. He sighs and leans into it, and then wishes like hell he actually chewed mint gum like so many humans do when Arwen leans in to breathe with him. Her lips are parted but not touching his, the smallest possible distance away. It's a very elvish thing and Aragorn is never sure if he loves or hates it more. He tries not to be a sweaty, impatient, overeager _human_ at times like this, but he can't help a low whine after they've been poised for at least a minute and a half. Arwen closes the distance at long last, and Aragorn moans quietly as she kisses him.. At moments like this he feels utterly in her thrall, helpless as any poor wayward shepherd boy in those lying Gondor stories.

“Let's go inside,” she murmurs into his mouth, the phrase having a similar tone in Sindarin as 'going upstairs' has in some Westron-speaking communities. Aragorn tries not to whimper too loudly, and follows her in without a word. Even with their age gap and elven proprieties, not everything is forbidden, and every time Aragorn thinks that he has never been more glad of it.

Anything that can actually create a child is forbidden to unwed elves, since they take their responsibilities so much more seriously than humans often do, but beyond that simple prohibition are several others, many acts off-limits for symbolic reasons alone. Their own situation is further complicated by Aragorn's humanity. It gives them some leeway, but also puts special limits on Arwen's conduct, because Aragorn is so much younger, in addition to being a poor, misguided mortal.

As a betrothed elven lady, Arwen is allowed to receive Aragorn in her own bedroom, even if Elrond won't let them share one. They climb the stairs swiftly and silently, and Aragorn tries not whimper too loudly when Arwen shuts her door behind them. Her room is full of her scent and that sense of presence an elf's room gets after the first few centuries of habitation, and he feels sweaty and greasy and like his heart is beating too loud. She smiles, and kisses him softly before pulling off his shirt.

“Onto the bed, Estel,” she says, and he blushes, slipping his feet out of his shoes and climbing onto the high, white, old-fashioned bed. She joins him in a moment, bare breasts pressing against his chest and making him groan and cling to her. The more of their skin is in contact, the more obvious the difference is, her cool, impossible smoothness against all his heat and hair. For a long time she just covers him in kisses and strokes his hair in a wavelike pattern so soothing it almost makes him sleepy despite how achingly hard he is, but at last she murmurs into his ear, asking permission to enter him. The word is a different one from the usual, with a purely sexual connotation. It always sounds a little dirty coming from Arwen, and he blushes, biting his lip and nodding.

“Please.”

She beams at him, and Aragorn wriggles out of his pants, kicking them and his socks over the side of the bed in a movement that feels pretty graceless. At least Arwen seems to find it endearing, helping him with the second sock and gently rolling him onto his belly. Female penetration of males is one of the things that's definitely allowed, and Aragorn shakes all over as Arwen slides oiled fingers over and over his hole. He buries his face in the pillow and knots his hands into the sheets, struggling to just breathe and not moan the house down.

“So sweet,” Arwen coos, slipping one fingertip into him for just a moment before continuing to stroke him. She likes to tease him until he's desperate, and Aragorn feels like he's going to die of it tonight, and she's barely getting started.

“Please, Evenstar,” he whimpers, “please, I need you inside me.”

She shivers, and bites the nape of his neck, which a scandalous and brutal liberty by elven standards, and that fact just makes him muffle a helpless groan in the pillow and then mewl piteously as two slender fingertips push into him, gentle and inexorable. Arwen knows exactly how to to touch him, and Aragorn has given up on being anything but receptive when she does. He used to try and touch her, but she would always push his hands away or pin them down, whispering into his ear that she didn't want any distractions. So now he just whimpers and mumbles into the pillow, shaking all over. Putting her free hand around his cock is considered a penetration and is thus out of bounds, but he doesn't really need it, rutting against the sheet and actually weeping a little as she adds a third finger.

“Close, dearest?” she murmurs into his ear, nibbling the edge. He gasps assent and she bites his neck again, hard and scandalous and human. She pushes a little deeper and Aragorn is coming, bucking and gasping into the pillow. Arwen strokes him through it and then cleans them both up, stretching out beside him and smiling at him when he finds the strength to turn his face to her. “You're so beautiful like this,” she says softly, and he can feel himself blushing. “My darling human boy,” she coos, stroking his hair again. He feels sticky and flushed and silly and unbearably young, but the way Arwen looks at him makes it all okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Compared to human men, women can wait forever, and compared to humans in general elves can wait longer than that. Arwen is aglow with arousal, but she's content to let Aragorn nap, studying his stubbly face as he sleeps. He changes so quickly, and she doesn't want to miss any of it. 

He does need to bathe, though, and after a while she whispers, “Estel,” into his ear. She has to repeat herself, but only once before his eyes open. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. “Join me in a bath?”

“Always,” he says softly, and yawns in a way that reminds her of a puppy, or perhaps a wolf cub. She kisses his adorable face and nuzzles into the scratchiness on his cheek before going to run the bath. Aragorn makes a sad little noise when she leaves him and pulls her down onto the bed and into a tight hug when she comes back, and she laughs, kissing him again.

“Sweetheart,” she says softly, nuzzling the prickly line of his jaw, “dearest one, honeyflower, I will always return for you.” Aragorn says that things like this sound stupid in Westron, so she says it in Sindarin, teasing and at the same time meaning every word. Aragorn sighs and kisses her mouth the way humans love to do. Like so many stereotypically human amorous touches, she has come to like it a great deal. She lingers with her sweet little human until she can hear the water level rising nearly to where she wants it, and then stands and pulls him after her. It doesn't take much pulling with Aragorn so cuddly and clingy.

“You are the most darling child,” she tells him, the Sindarin word infused with a tenderness the Westron one often isn't.

“I love you so much,” he says softly, and she kisses the round tip of his ear.

“I love you too, Estel,” she coos, and switches off the tap before helping him over the high rim. It's nothing he couldn't do on his own, but she likes to take care of him and it's prudent to take a loved one's arm when the going is slippery. She follows, and soon they're settled at one end, Aragorn with his back to her chest, her arms around his waist. He settles easily between her legs, long past the stage of arguing that any particular embrace is 'unmanly.' If he's anything like the others of his line, in the blink of an eye he'll be too tall to fit against her this way, so she wants to enjoy it while she can.

They lounge together in the warm water without speaking for a while, but at last Arwen starts to kiss Aragorn's neck, making him wriggle a little in her arms and then groan as she presses her breasts against his back, her hands sliding over his skin, down to stroke his inner thighs and up again to pinch his nipples as he moans quietly, his hands reaching back to grasp her hips before sliding down to stroke the backs of her knees. She shudders and smiles into his hair to remember how happy he had been to discover that sensitivity. Each delicate little touch makes her shudder and clench, and she lets out a long, shaking breath, the sound and the warm air on tender skin making Aragorn whine almost too low to hear.

Arwen speaks many tongues and has many heart-names for her sweet little human. She goes through them all, whispering in his ear as she touches him and loving how helpless he is in her hands. At last he begs to help her, and she helps him turn to face her. Properly cleaned and with his eyes dilated and shining, Aragorn is more beautiful than ever, and she gives him a long, wet, human-style kiss on the mouth. It used to be a little too much for her, but now she's used to how immediate and heated it is, and loves the way it fills her head with the taste and scent of Aragorn. He whimpers and straddles her leg, erect again already, of course. She smiles against his mouth and shifts to lick and suckle at the edge of his ear, her hands on his hips helping him to find the right angle to rut against her thigh while allowing her to do the same to him.

Aragorn has described his own sexual response, and as Arwen had already begun to see, it differs strongly from her own. Apparently humans move in three beats, with an initial change from coolness to passion that becomes a plateau of enjoyment for a while before making another violent leap into orgasm, as a sort of seizure of delight. Elven sexual response is much smoother. As far as Arwen can tell, by human standards her orgasms are between ten minutes and an hour long, a slow and languorous build. There is no plateau, because the increase is constant, and it's greatly to Aragorn's credit that he keeps giving her the pressure she needs all through his own galloping and violent pleasure. Even after he spends he doesn't let himself go limp the way she knows he wants to, holding in place for her to rock against and gazing at her face like nothing else has ever mattered.

When Arwen has shuddered and gasped her way to quiet again, Aragorn whimpers and subsides against her. She feels that he's hard yet again and laughs.

“Sorry?” he offers, shrugging, and that just makes her laugh harder.

“Dear one, don't apologize,” she says, and guides his mouth to her nipples as she reaches around to press just the tip of one finger into him. He moans, wrapping a hand around his cock, and she just barely strokes him on the inside, watching him.

They stay in the bath until the water goes cool, and Aragorn doesn't have to coax much for Arwen to agree to extend her visit by just one day to join the upcoming school trip to Fangorn. It has been a long time since she last spoke with an Ent, and like most elves, she greatly enjoys their company. She'll be able to gather thesis material, too, and she talks Aragorn to sleep with it, lying awake with him in her arms until three o'clock, when she gently rousts him and sends him to sleep in his own bed in the name of propriety. He makes a weak little noise of complaint but gets up and walks down the hall, clinging to Arwen for a long moment before she gently disengages and tucks him into bed.

“There, Estel,” she says softly, stroking his hair, still a little damp, “I'll cuddle you all you like tomorrow.”

He chuckles, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to the palm. “Even at Grandmother's?”

“Even at Grandmother's. It might annoy Grandfather, but not her.” Grandfather can be a bit narrow-minded sometimes, but Grandmother has always understood things. Now Arwen brushes the backs of her fingers against Aragorn's cheek, and begins to quietly sing. It's an old, old song, even by elven reckoning, and takes the viewpoint of Luthien, a lullabye and a lament about the love of mortals changing a person forever.


End file.
